Dhaba
The Wonder House

"'When I return, having found the River, I will bring thee a written picture of the Padma Samthora – such as I used to make on silk at the lamassery. Yes– and of the Wheel of Life,' he chuckled, 'for we be craftsmen together, thou and I.'" – Kipling, from Kim






Ch. 2

Much had changed since that time for the Moory's and particular Sanja since the great hurricane had raked over the barrier islands here along the coast.  There could be no way that Atman would have ever desired such a thing, nor could have anticipated, but the great rebuilding of the island had brought all of the rebuilding of the homes and resorts until the road from the mainland, Periwinkle, all the way to the end to the end of the island itself, had become a long train of people coming to visit. The Dhaba, which had been something more of a side-show, so to speak, – a kind of colorful Indian peculiarity – had now become a great necessity, and for all of those who have chosen such a life as serving the transient food, necessity was, of course, the key to all success.  Atman had found himself one day years ago underneath a grove of varied palms and one of the great green fruit had fallen just in front of his feet. One foot closer, standing nearer the Dhaba truck, he realized that this could have struck him on the head. He picked up the green ball and took it into the back side of the truck and handed it to his wife who was stooped over the griddle making the crepes and lentils known as Dosa, and claimed that fortunes had changed for them that day. "From this day forward, I believe

our pilgrimage to this world of water has ended. We are now on the other side." Of course this would have been nothing more than a comic scene for the wife. She had often formed a sweat over her by the time the lunch crowd had passed and had concerns over supplies, giving marching orders to Cecilla, who was a less than willing participant in this unusual life the Moory's had cut out for themselves.  Atman had the eyes of a large bug, quite wide, always seeking the answer to large mysteries, part ocean, part religion, making the claim that they had now finally found the answers to they're problems as the cars began to line up behind him.  He had been right. The Dhaba was no longer a peculiarity but something that began to show up on the wonderfully cartoon like maps of the island. Yes, there it was, the lime green and yellow truck, shaped more like a van for the sake of limited space on the brochure, and Atman took this as the most sure sign of success.  "Tomorrow we will begin looking for our new place at the end of the road," he said, which brought a look on his wife's face of such mystification that it would difficult to repeat its intensity. "For God's sake Atman, what are you saying. Our business is finally thriving and you want to move us down the road to an unknown place, closer, closer, to the water? Is that it?"
"Our journey will be complete at the beach. That is where we need to be. They will come from all angles. They will walk, drive, boat. Fisherman will smell your Pav Bhaji for miles out over the

water."  It was ludicrous, she knew this, but Atman's visions had rarely been proved wrong, as long as the Moory family was willing to be patient, to continue to work, and believe in the magical powers of this place, this blue water that was so much more angelic than anything they had heard of in the Ganges.